Clipped Wings
by Red Paine
Summary: "Prayer is not asking. It is a longing of the soul. It is daily admission of one's weakness. It is better in prayer to have a heart without words than words without a heart." -Mahatma Gandhi [rated T for disturbing themes]
1. Chapter 1

_Two little boys slept in their room together, blissfully unaware of the picked lock. The eldest by two minutes was the first to awaken to breaking glass. Then he heard the screams. He ran out of his bedroom into the hall. That was when the other brother was alerted. Following his brother more slowly, the youngest padded cautiously outside. There was no sound, not even the usual cicadas or owls of the night. _

"_Sly?" he called, tiny hands placed on the wall, "Sly, what's going on?"_

_No one replied to him. He went downstairs into the living room. _

"_Anybody there?"_

_Again, silence was the only response. The younger twin went to enter the kitchen, and stopped when his bare feet touched something wet. He looked down and screamed at the dark red pooling out from under the door._

Aoba bolted upright, gasping for breath. Sweat coated his clothes and made them stick to him. The sheets had been kicked to the foot of the bed. Aoba's headphones that should've been secured on his ears were dangling on his shoulder. Listening to music was what let Aoba sleep; the fact that they slipped automatically explained Aoba's nightmare. Calming down, he sighed, and got up to make himself breakfast. As he passed the neighboring bedroom, Aoba's heartbeat spiked again, then relaxed when he realized it was empty. The kitchen was also vacant, as was the rest of the house. There was no note to suggest where Sly had gone, or when he'd get back, but Aoba had the house to himself for the time being. A true gift.

He had a full bowl of cereal with a spoon of sugar, reading the newspaper leisurely. Being the responsible brother, Aoba washed his dishes and went back upstairs to shower. Aoba took his sweet time, using all the warm water, though he didn't dare leave the door unlocked. Sometimes the lock wasn't enough. It was, in any case, the only protection he was granted, however bleak.

The house was still deserted, save for Aoba, by the time he got out of the shower and changed. This really was a good morning. Aoba grabbed his books, plugged in his headphones to charge while he was gone, then left the house. He walked to the bus stop without fear. Now that he was in public, Sly couldn't do anything even if he did see him.

Classes that day were the custom boring. The teacher rattled on about English pronunciation, something to do with the letter "L". Aoba's eyes wandered out the window, into the clouds. English didn't interest him in the slightest bit. He only took this class to learn the language so he could go to America. It was supposed to be free there. Aoba could've easily picked German or French instead of English, but their designated countries were too close to Japan by land for Aoba's taste. Internally moaning, Aoba reluctantly shifted his focus back onto the hardest language in the universe and learned that "READ" could be pronounced two different ways. In any case, this was the only place Aoba could go to escape home. He didn't have a job to go to after this, or any friends to hang out with. The government paid for his and Sly's house, and he wasn't allowed to have any friends. Sly didn't want Aoba telling anyone their secrets.

Dread pulsed through Aoba when the dismissal bell chimed. He dragged his feet through the door, carrying the paper-light textbooks that suddenly weighed a ton. There were only a few more times Aoba would be able to do this for a while. Summer vacation threatened the end of the week. Another summer Aoba would have to survive. Then the cycle would repeat, as the English class lasted for four years. Only nineteen, one year out of high school, Aoba would have to endure three more. He prayed that he'd eventually get used to it, but his body still rejected everything thrown at him. When Aoba got home, it dulled into an ache. It learned to recognize Sly's presence by now, before Aoba could even spot him.

"Back from school, eh?" Sly gave a malicious grin. Aoba hoped Sly couldn't see the panic in Aoba's chest. Whenever Sly was shirtless, it usually didn't end well. As he answered, Sly had begun to play with the waistband of his jeans.

"Yeah."

Sly cocked an eyebrow, "Oh? Where's my kiss?"

Aoba swallowed his dead pride and pecked Sly on the cheek, his face burning. On his breath, Aoba could smell smoke, from pot or cigarettes, he wasn't sure, but it was tainted with the bitter scent of beer. Already Aoba's nerves started shrieking.

"That's better, Aoba. What a good boy you are," Sly slid a caressing hand across Aoba's face, never a good sign. Aoba kept his eyes off to the side, "Who's a good boy?"

"I am. I am a good boy."

"Yes, you are. Go upstairs. We need to shower."

"I have homework - -"

The back of Sly's hand cracked against the side of Aoba's head. It snapped his neck to the side, reddening. Sly kept the same smile, "Go upstairs."

"Yes, Sly."

Aoba set his books down by the front door. He ascended a floor, ignoring the growing disgust in the pit of his stomach, mixed with intense hunger for dinner. Behind him, Sly had dropped his pants and was tailing Aoba. They stood in the bathroom, the shower untouched. Aoba stayed completely still. If he moved, he'd get a lot worse than a slap to the cheek. This time, Sly undressed him. He licked Aoba's chest, purring lowly into his ear, "What a good boy…"

_Don't you fucking touch me_.

He wished he could revolt. He wished he could say that. But last time he even said a word, Aoba ended up with a gash inches deep. Sly locked him in the house, refusing him a visit to the hospital. Aoba's stitches were put in without anesthesia, by his own hands. He sewed his own shoulder back together. Luckily for Aoba, the cabinet stocked to the max with painkillers for Sly's parties, also held disinfectant. Aoba bit down on a belt and screamed when he poured it onto his wound, but was glad he did it, as the cut eventually healed without infection. That was when he was fourteen, years ago, the first time Sly touched him. It hadn't happened since.

Sly slid off his boxers. He grabbed Aoba's hair, then poised the switchblade over his spine.

_God help me._


	2. Chapter 2

Aoba shoved the back of his hand to his mouth and bit down. He turned his face into the pillow and yelled, the sobs racking his body as he lay in his bed. The guy had endured Sly for three hours this round. Then Aoba fed himself, did his homework, and locked himself in his room. He put on his headphones, blasted the music, so loud he couldn't hear himself crying. Outside, Aoba had no idea what Sly was doing, but he didn't knock or try to open the door once. Aoba had served his purpose for the time being. Time to find a new toy, since his favorite one was too tired to play.

_Mom… Dad… Why? Why did you have to die? Why then? Why that way…?_

His chest grew heavy as the inner turmoil collided with his emotions. There was no one Aoba could tell, no one he could talk to about it. Aoba had no one to say, "it's going to be okay", so who was Aoba to believe it was? As far as he knew, Sly would torture him for the rest of his life. Aoba placed a trembling hand on the back of his neck, where Sly had drawn blood, then on his bloody thighs, inner thighs, and the place where his shoulderblades met. All of it was sliced and diced as if Aoba were a piece of fruit. Sometimes he wished Sly's hand would slip, and he'd accidentally kill Aoba. Then the nightmare would end.

Throughout the years their parents had been alive, Sly and Aoba were visibly different in behaviour. Where Sly would find a spider web and egg on the spider to eat the trapped butterfly, Aoba would take a stick, scare away the spider, and free the butterfly. He wouldn't chase it. Aoba would watch its colorful wings fly away, humming "pretty buggy" while Sly scowled in the corner. Their parents would always tell Sly to follow Aoba's example and appreciate the miracle of life. Perhaps they'd gotten somewhere at some point, but after their death, something snapped inside Sly that could never be fixed. Even if they were here now, Aoba doubted Sly would listen to his parents, and continue destroying. Needless to say, Aoba could never hurt anything, especially not his brother. He couldn't even hurt himself. The only way out of this was if Sly killed him, which he was painfully careful to avoid. Aoba curled himself into a tight ball and wept, praying again for someone to help him.

The same thing happened every time. Sly would use him, Aoba would break, and then he'd recover. A sense of hope would blossom in Aoba, that this would all end. He'd be reminded he was taking classes, he was going to escape. Aoba would go to America, Sly would never find him, and he'd finally be free. The idea was so relaxing that Aoba had a way out, but the fact that it was years from now scared him. What if he didn't make it to then? What if Sly finally made Aoba his, in body and in soul, before Aoba could even finish learning English? Aoba cried harder, falling asleep with ragged breathing, listening to music slower than his heartrate.

In the morning, Aoba awoke without shaking from night terrors. He hurt all over from where Sly cut him. Getting out of bed pained his legs. Pulling on his shirt sent jolts of agony through his torso. And, like so many times before, when Aoba looked in the mirror, his clothes covered all of his physical wounds. Sly knew what people would do if he left his marks in plain sight. If one looked closer, one would see the redness of Aoba's eyes, the hickies his hair covered, the faint bruise on his cheek. Aoba glowered at himself, cursed how weak he was. Self-loathing weighed him down as Aoba went downstairs to eat, then depart.

Sly and their house vanished behind Aoba. He walked to the bus stop, bag in hand, trying to recreate the illusion he was safe. It didn't work every day, and Aoba would spend the whole day a bundle of nerves one step too close to the edge. Today it required all of Aoba's mind power to walk in a straight line. He sat on the bench taking deep breaths.

Birds chirped. Morning dew gathered on the fresh, green grass. Clouds had moved in, ominous in their dark grey. Aoba listened to the birds take shelter when rain started pouring down, then to the _pitter-patter_ the droplets made on the bus stop's roof. He held his hand out and let them fall into his palm. It felt nice, like little kisses on his skin, nothing like the bites from Sly. Someday, most likely with an American, Aoba would get rain-kisses, and learn what it was like to really be cherished. Aoba gazed on into the street, wistfully imaging what they'd look like.

A small stray dog had wandered over on the other side of the street. It looked at Aoba with excited eyes, wagging its small tail. Aoba laughed a little, "C'mere, little guy!" The little animal yipped and began walking into the paved road. Neither of them saw the car coming. As metal hit into the dog's side, Aoba dashed forward.

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry!" the lady driving the car stepped out, "Is he your dog? I am so sorry I didn't see him there he's so tiny!"

Aoba bent to take the dog in his arms. Its blood got on Aoba's jacket. The sight of red alone sent Aoba's head spinning. He swallowed the taste of bile building up in his throat, "Please, just, take us to the nearest clinic."

"Of course of course get in!"

As he sat in the passenger's seat, Aoba couldn't stop staring at the dog's body. His mind fought to suppress images of the past, of young Sly covered in their parents' blood. Aoba looked out the window and saw the bus come and go. The guy was dedicated to the class primarily for learning the language; skipping wasn't that big of a deal to Aoba. Right now this poor animal was Aoba's primary concern. As it whimpered in Aoba's lap, thoughts of Sly were erased, and Aoba spoke to it in a hushed tone, "It's okay, you're alright. Good puppy, good puppy, everything will be alright…"

They arrived a few minutes later. The lady apologized profusely when the employees took the dog from Aoba into the back for emergency surgery.

"The process may take a while," a man in a scrub suit said to Aoba, "You may leave, we'll call you when it's over."

"I'm not leaving."

"But, didn't you say it isn't your dog?"

"I don't care. I want to make sure it's okay."

"Well, okay, if that's what you want."

The lady left, claiming she had work. Aoba waited for an hour and a half in the waiting room, anxiously hoping the dog would make it. People often asked what he was doing, and found his answer strange. Who cared if a stray died? It was probably starving anyway. Isn't it better the thing get put out of his misery? He didn't mind any of them. The dog was no different than their dogs. There was hope for the dog. As long as there was hope, Aoba would hold on. When Aoba was called, he nearly tripped over his own feet rushing to the examination room. There, the dog was wearing a thick cast around its little body. It barked merrily at Aoba as he scritched its ears.

The doctor reported, "The little guy should be fine. However, when we were operating, we found a microchip in its shoulder. We traced it back to this old man's house. We'll take him there, don't worry about a thing."

"No, I want to take him home. Can you give me the address?"

Aoba didn't have any change for a cab. He took the forty five minute walk to the residence, carrying the little dog in his arms, trying not to move him too much. The old man was horrified by his pet's condition, but didn't blame Aoba after he explained the situation, even handing him the paperwork the vet gave him.

"Thank you so much for saving my darling Kujo," his old creaky voice was so endearing, Aoba couldn't help but smile just listening to it, "He's all I got left, grandkids moved away and all that. I love him to bits, I really can't thank you enough, sonny. If there's anything an old man can do for you, just let me know."

"It's alright, that's not necessary. I was happy to do it."

"But you went so far out of your way…"

"It's alright," Aoba said again, holding up his hands.

"Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find us."

The elderly man used Kujo's paw to wave goodbye to Aoba, a sight Aoba could truly enjoy. It gave him a good feeling, seeing others so happy because of something he did. Sometimes Aoba could relate to dogs, always so eager to please. That notion returned Sly to Aoba's subconscious, and Aoba felt himself break a little more when he realized he already was someone's dog.

Aoba's watch said classes were well into progress. There wasn't enough time to walk there and make it worthwhile. And Aoba couldn't go anywhere else. He couldn't risk running into Sly or one of his friends. That light feeling from helping Kujo automatically dissipated, replaced with the depression of going home. Numbly, Aoba wondered how he'd explain the blood on his clothes to Sly, and if Sly would believe him, and if he didn't, what his punishment would be.


	3. Chapter 3

"This isn't my blood."

"I told you, it's from a dog!"

"This _isn't. My. Blood._"

Sly Blue had Aoba pinned against the wall. His one arm was across Aoba's collarbone, the other held a fist. It shot again at Aoba's abdomen. The blow hit Aoba's diaphragm and left him gasping for breath. Blood trickled down his chin as Sly glowered.

"Look at me, Aoba."

The older brother pressed his arm harder into Aoba's neck. Aoba had no choice but to lock gazes with Sly. He knew his own complexion was completely terrified. Why else would Sly be smiling?

"Don't think I don't know. You're going to school to learn English. Then you're going to 'escape', right?" Sly whispered viciously into Aoba's ear, "Yeah, right. You're never getting out of here. You don't have the _balls_. What, you think you can leave? Me? No. You're mine, Aoba. _All. Mine._"

He banged Aoba's head hard on the wall to the point where Aoba's vision turned blurry. Sly paused, then kissed Aoba deeply, biting hard on Aoba's bottom lip so it split. The guy licked the blood from his mouth, laughing slightly, before releasing Aoba and letting him drop to the ground. Aoba didn't see Sly Blue grab his jacket and leave the house. He heard the door slamming shut, but he did see the hardwood floor coming into focus. More tears sprang to his eyes and rolled off the side of his nose onto his neck. Inside his ribs ached with each breath. The throbbing agony crippled Aoba; he didn't want to move. There he stayed, on the floor, sobbing once again. He waited for that spark, that flame to reignite, to give him hope, though none came. Whatever had been fueling Aoba's spirit was gone.

_This is it. _

_I'm done._

Midnight, several hours later, Sly Blue crossed the threshold of his house. For once, he wasn't drunk, or high. He was his usual stone-cold, spiteful self. Energy pulsed through him, and he wanted release.

"AOBA!"

It wasn't a call, it was a command. Aoba would come to him, and he'd have his fun. But no sight of his brother. Sly yelled his name again, only to be ignored again. Irritated, Sly thundered up the stairs to Aoba's room. He was momentarily surprised to find he wasn't there. Then he tried the bathroom: unlocked and baren. Fury boiled up as Sly searched the house to find no trace of Aoba. The older brother stormed to his room to call his gang and send them on a hunt, but what he found stunned him into rageless silence.

Over on his bed, which was hardly ever used, was Aoba, stark naked. His wrists were bound by handcuffs, and he laid on his stomach, his legs propping up his behind. Sly stared at him with a blank face hardly anyone saw.

"Aoba."

"Take me…" his voice was soft, submissive, without a hint of hidden fear or resistance, "I'm yours. For the taking… I'm yours for the taking…"

"... Who said you could get undressed?"

* * *

Long ago, when Aoba and Sly weren't orphans, they would stay up late talking to each other. They'd laugh over silly cartoons or whatever happened that day. Sly cherished these moments, because it was the only time anyone ever treated him like a human being and not a ticking time bomb. Maybe Aoba didn't understand his brother, but at least he _tried_ to. Then, the little boys would fall asleep, and occasionally, Sly would have a nightmare. He'd awaken red-faced and bawling. Aoba would hold him, stroke his hair, humming, "happy Bluey, happy Bluey," until Sly calmed down. Aoba would get Sly into bed with him, and let him squeeze him until he fell asleep again. The two would stay like that up to the sunrise. Aoba would never climb into Sly's bed; for some reason, he never got nightmares.

Sly watched Aoba sleep against him, wrists red from the harsh tightness of the handcuffs. He stroked Aoba's hair, letting his eyes slide lazily down Aoba's body, examining his work. Every surface was cut, not deep enough to need medical attention but enough to hurt, except for his hands, feet, face, and neck. There was blood stains all over the sheets and mattress. Sly rubbed a finger over the wound on Aoba's neck and licked it.

_Sweet… _

Outside, the moon had risen as far as it could into the star-speckled sky. Cicadas sang their song while the rare owl hooted. It was a peaceful evening. No ordinary person would've been able to guess what Aoba was going through, or that Aoba himself was beginning to fade. Sly felt comfort in this, and closed his eyes to doze off, when he heard an audible _thud_ on the roof.

_What the fuck?_

Whatever fell had to have been heavier than a squirrel or a raccoon. It might have been a deer. Sly cocked an eyebrow. How the hell would a deer get on the roof? Grabbing the bloody switchblade by the side of the bed, Sly left the bedroom to investigate.

As soon as the door closed, the window opened. A figure slipped through without making a sound and shut the window behind him. His cloak, covered in strange runes, hid the entirety of his body and face. The boy eyed the door, making sure Sly wasn't returning, and bent down to shake Aoba's shoulder.

"Aoba. Aoba!"

His deep voice forced Aoba's eyes open. Aoba, naked and filayed, only looked at him with dulled golden eyes.

"Aoba…"

"..."

"Aoba," the boy's voice cracked as he wrapped his arms around Aoba and wept, "Aoba, I'm so sorry, I… This is my fault… This is all my fault…"

"... Who are you?"

"My fault, my fault, my fault…"

He nuzzled Aoba's shoulder, a genuine gesture of affection that Aoba never knew the likes of. It seemed to snap him out of his trance, "Wait, who are you?! Get off of me!"

The boy jumped back, "I-I'm sorry! You probably don't want me to - -"

The sentence was cut off when the door banged open. Sly, teeth bared and knife poised, lunged for the newcomer.


	4. Chapter 4

Moonlight was the only thing providing a visual on the room. It bounced off the blade into Aoba's eyes. Everything else seemed to be a blur. The sounds of their tussle didn't seem real. He watched Sly Blue pin the stranger to the floor, trying to bring the knife down into his neck, but the stranger had his fist around Sly's wrist and kept it at bay.

"Let him go!" the boy said, still concealed by his cloak.

"Who the fuck are you to tell me what to do?!"

Sly's weapon drew dangerously closer. Out of desperation, the stranger brought his knees up and kicked Sly's stomach. He was sent to the opposite wall. A growl of pain escaped Sly's throat, bringing Aoba off of the bed and in between the other two. Aoba bent slowly to take the knife from Sly's hand, turn, then poise it at the stranger. His voice was as faint as his eyes.

"Stay away."

"Aoba…" the stranger, battered and bruised, shakily got to his feet, "Aoba, no…"

Behind Aoba, Sly snickered. His golden eyes pierced the darkness and gleamed, a snake sticking his forked tongue out.

The masked man pleaded quietly, reaching out with his hand, "Aoba, put it down. Please."

"Stay… away."

"Aoba, please. I'm here for you."

"I'm here for Sly."

He gulped nervously. Taking a hesitant step forward, the boy tried to grab the switchblade, only to have Aoba lash out. The blade ripped through his cloak and pricked his chest before he stepped back. Aoba glared at him, handcuffs clanking, sizing him up.

"Good boy, Aoba," Sly cooed, "Get him. Make sure he doesn't get away."

As if he were a robot responding to a remote, Aoba shot forward in an attempt to impale the newcomer's abdomen. He avoided the attack. Aoba stumbled, and he took the opportunity to seize the weapon. The blade was thrown to the opposite wall. It lodged hilt-deep into Sly's shoulder. A sound so inhuman tore its way out of Sly Blue, curling Aoba's blood. Aoba cried his name and went to be with him, but the stranger restrained him against the wall.

"Get off! Get the fuck off of me, murderer!"

"I-I didn't kill him!" the stranger let Aoba turn his head to observe Sly standing and lurching to the door, "He'll be fine."

Sly Blue looked daggers at the newcomer. Just as he left the room, he hissed lowly, "I don't know who you're with, but know that they're no match for mine. This isn't the end." and he was gone.

At the noise of the front door closing, Aoba's body jerked against the stranger's. He dashed to the door, but his path was cut off. This was where Aoba noticed the newcomer was a head taller than him, maybe stronger than him too. For a moment, neither moved, then the stranger shifted to remove his cape, leaving the cowl to shield his face. He held out the cloth to Aoba. Aoba was shocked by the gesture. It was true, he felt cold and exposed, since this man wasn't Sly, but wouldn't his attacker want that?

"Take it," his voice was soft, like he was offering food to a starved pup, "Go on."

Aoba eyed it warily. Where he expected him to force it on him, he was wrong. The stranger patiently kept his arm out. It made Aoba tentatively take the cloak from him, and wrap it around his body. Whatever Aoba thought it'd feel like, he was wrong. The thing was soft, resembling a hug from a loving mother. He tried not to revel in it and kept his eyes on the other.

"Show yourself."

In a split second, the man flicked on the lightswitch, and Aoba could see his body. The cloak had hid his slim frame. His legs were covered by a pair of ordinary jeans, while his torso was bare. Aoba examined his lean stomach, his chest, and his somewhat muscular arms. He didn't look like someone who was built for fighting. The most outstanding feature were his tattoos: two bands around his biceps. Aoba didn't have any idea what kind of person he was. Maybe a fellow student he never noticed before? It'd be the only viable explanation, he seemed around Aoba's age.

"Take off your hood."

"O-oh, um, that is, erm… I can't."

"I won't trust you until I see your face."

His shoulders slumped slightly, "Really? Oh…" he sighed, "I won't like it but, I guess, that'll have to do… As long as you're safe, that's all that matters to me."

"But _who are you_?"

"I, ah… Ren, I guess."

"You guess?"

"It's more of a _what _I am, you never really gave me a name, I don't think, ah… No, you didn't. Um. It was my name once. You can use it now, if you want."

Aoba shook his head to clear his thoughts of how weird this guy was, "Let me go. I need to see Sly. I need to make sure he's alright."

"Sly Blue can handle himself. He's been through worse than a stabbing. Correct me if I'm wrong, but the boy has a bullet wound on his calf, right?"

"... No. You're not wrong," Aoba felt his heart race faster, "How could you possibly know that? Did you shoot him too? Have you met him before?"

"Never met him once in my life. Officially, anyway. Today was the first time I've ever seen either of you in the flesh. Anyone, actually."

"What?"

"Enough about that, come with me," Ren stepped into the hallway, "We should bandage you up."

"Why?"

Ren's expression became alarmed, "What do you mean, 'why'? You always heal yourself after Sly hurts you. Don't you want to heal?"

"I'm beautiful this way."

"... Did Sly tell you that?"

"Yes."

"Was it beautiful coming out of your parents' innards?"

Aoba flinched as though he'd been slapped. There was no way Ren could know about that either, "You didn't kill them, did you?"

"No, I did not. Please, come, Aoba. I don't want you to scar," Ren came closer and raised a hand, asking gently, "Is it alright if I help you?"

"I don't need help. I need Sly."

Ren dropped his hand. With that, Aoba went to sink back onto the blood-stained bed. A split second passed before Ren bent to pick up Aoba bridal style. Aoba instantly thrashed against him. No one was to touch him except for Sly. He resisted all the way to the bathroom. Ren set him down on the toilet seat, and opened the cabinet. It was on his first try that he found the bandages and disinfectant, as though he knew where they were. As the bathtub was across from the toilet, Ren sat on the rim and held out his hand.

"Give me your foot. I'll start with your legs first."

Aoba clenched his legs in tighter. Somehow, he'd managed to curl himself into a small ball on top of the toilet.

"Aoba, I don't want to hurt you. I'm trying to help."

"Sly wants me like this. Any way else is wrong."

"Aoba…" Ren's heart broke a little more. The feeling wasn't enough to make him quit, "C'mon. I'm not saying what's right and wrong. My beliefs don't tend to be… popular, where I'm from. But, please, let me be selfish. Let me want you to be healthy."

"But, Sly…"

"He's not here right now."

"Will he come back?"

"Most likely. I am here to keep it from happening."

"You're keeping me hostage?"

"I was thinking it was quite the opposite, but if that's how you see it, yes, I guess so…" he voice trailed off, "So, please, let me see. I'll take care of you, I promise, I will never hurt you."

"Until you take your hood off, how am I to know if you aren't two-faced?"

Ren let out a sad laugh, "Aoba, I know better than anyone how hard it is for you. I can't ask you to trust me, because I know you won't. All I can do is make promises and live up to them. Please let me do so."

There was no response, so Ren gingerly took Aoba's foot and stretched out his leg, trying to give him as much dignity as possible. He dabbed a cotton ball in rubbing alcohol and swept it over Aoba's cuts. Aoba braced himself for the burning sting. It never came. All he could feel was the wetness of the liquid on his legs.

"H-how are you doing that…?"

"It doesn't hurt?" Ren looked momentarily perplexed, then smiled slightly, "I guess it hasn't worn off completely, yet."

Aoba let Ren clean out all of the gashes, looking at Ren's back muscles the entire time. There were tattoos there as well. Two symmetrical wolf-shaped runes howled on his shoulder blades in graceful, soundless strength. When Ren moved to do Aoba's chest, his heart fluttered at his sensitive touch, and he prayed that Ren couldn't feel it ramming against his ribs. Ren didn't seem to notice it. Aoba noticed, however, that Ren was unscathed. There were no blemishes on his skin, no slit from the knife Aoba used on him. After a while of trying not to squirm at how kind Ren's touch was, Aoba decided not to say anything about it.


	5. Chapter 5

The first time Ren tried going to Sly's room, Aoba made a break for it to the front door. He'd almost made it by the time Ren tackled him to the floorboards. It forced the blue butterfly's cocoon open. Aoba blushed hard and averted his eyes to the side. In contrast, Ren didn't seem the slightest bit put off. He spoke to Aoba calmly as though this were a normal conversation between two completely dressed men standing up.

"I'm sorry, Aoba, I can't let you leave without me."

"I wasn't trying to…"

The masked man cocked his head to the side, "Really?"

"Sly would want me to stay… He wants me here, where he knows I'll be… Where I belong…"

"Then why were you trying to reach the door?"

To this, Aoba didn't respond. Ren left him on the floor to investigate. There wasn't anything unordinary about the entryway. A place for shoes, a coat rack, an umbrella holder, nothing…

_When did this get here?_

One umbrella, though mundane at first glance, was too lumpy to be real. Ren unfurled it to see the fabric hid a black revolver with a muffler. He dropped it like it hurt to touch, and kicked it away. Minutes ticked by before Ren moved his eyes to see Aoba was still on the floor, in the exact position he last saw him in. His face was strained, eyes shut tight, trying to hold back tears. Ren frowned.

"Aoba, what's wrong?"

"You're going to kill Sly," Aoba's voice cracked, "A-and, you… y-you… I'm supposed to…"

"I would never kill anyone."

"Liar!"

"Aoba…"

_He'd be thanking you if you hadn't fucked up, you worthless sack of shit. _

_What do you mean? He wouldn't even know I existed._

_Isn't that better than not existing at all? _

_Aoba would still be here if you hadn't been so human._

"I'm so sorry, Aoba…" Ren put his hands to his face, a groundless movement, "I just - - This is my fault. You're my fault. All of it's my fault. Maybe if I'd picked Sly, things would've been different but I just had to be selfish… I am so so _so sorry_…"

Aoba's eyes widened on Ren. None of what he just said made any sense, but a bit of himself let him feel something other than submissive: curious, and, maybe, a little cared for? The way Ren talked touched Aoba in a way he didn't think Sly Blue ever did. It was the way Ren spoke that Aoba had tried so hard last night to hear from Sly. But all he got was the blade, and the same rough sex. From Ren… genuine concern? Kindness? Aoba didn't know how to respond, so he stayed on the floor, propped up on an elbow, waiting for Ren to say something first. When he didn't, Aoba went for saying something instead.

"Being human… It's not so bad."

"Oh, Aoba…" Ren's voice was shattered, "You don't think you're human anymore, and that's why I cry. But you are."

"Ren? Are you, you know...?"

"Human? I… I'm not actually sure. You were once, though. You weren't an object. You weren't an excuse. You were Aoba, my precious, innocent… Aoba?"

"Y-yeah?"

"Tell me what it was like. Tell me, what was it like being human?" Aoba could hear Ren's voice waver, "Do you even remember?"

"I… went to school."

"I know that."

"To learn."

"Why learn?"

"So I…"

Aoba blinked hard.

Ren dropped his hands, "You don't know, do you."

There was no answer. Defeated, Ren trudged back upstairs to get the key. This time, Aoba didn't attempt another escape. Ren's feet were unbelievably heavy, coming down the stairs. He sat before Aoba, still on the floor, placing his knees on either side of Aoba's legs. As he leaned forward to unlock the cuffs, he thought he heard Aoba mumble something.

"What?" Ren looked hopefully into Aoba's golden eyes, "What did you say, just now?"

"... Escape. Escape. Escape? Escape… I don't know why, but I wanted to escape."

A real smile spread on Ren's lips, one he wished he could show Aoba. Whether or not this was an actual sign, Ren didn't know, but he'd take it over nothing. He got to his feet totally refueled. Aoba yawned, and that's where Ren recalled he hadn't gotten much sleep. It was close to three in the morning at that point. Ren's smile morphed into a warm one.

"Come, Aoba. You need rest."

Aoba, already lolling his head, looked up at Ren with hazy eyes. He stood with weak legs. The boy took a few steps forward and swooned. Ren promptly saved him from the harsh fall, readjusting Aoba to lie in his arms as he did not half an hour ago. After Aoba gave no acts of protest, Ren carried him upstairs into his own bedroom. The way Aoba nuzzled against Ren's chest made him want to keep holding on. Ren reluctantly placed him gently under the covers, tucking him in, within his cloak. He didn't forget to equip Aoba's headphones and press play. Aoba's true colors shined for a moment, content and asleep, listening to his favorite music, and Ren could've wept from sheer joy.

* * *

Sunrise was hours ago, that much was clear to Aoba when he next awoke. The curtains weren't enough to keep out the afternoon light. It left no room for shadows or memories. Aoba had no idea where he was, or why.

_This is… my room? _

_What is that smell?_

Turning over, Aoba realized that not only was he nude, but was wrapped in some foreign fabric. An aroma emenated from it, one Aoba had smelled before. It made him think of playing with Sly and their parents. Maybe it was his mother's perfume? Was this blanket from her?

"Aoba, breakfast is ready!"

_Mom?_

"Get dressed and come on down to eat!"

Aoba removed his headphones and jumped out of bed to grab some clothes. The standing mirror beside the dresser flashed red when Aoba passed it. It brought his eyes to the glass surface, and he saw himself, laced with red marks and band-aids. Aoba saw his reflection blink. Then it smirked evilly, using a knife to carve new slits into its neck, though never deep enough to rip it open. Aoba's hands flew to his throat as his eyes widened on the mirror. A name fell from his lips, weak and pleading.

"Sly Blue."

Nausea kicked Aoba in the stomach. He could taste bile on the back of his tongue. Everything hurt, from his cuts to his chest to his head. Tears sprang to Aoba's eyes and he buckled onto his knees.

_I'm coming for you, Aoba._

"Sly Blue."

That was when the shaking started. Aoba couldn't get a grip on anything, his fingers couldn't keep anything in their clutch.

_Why am I…_

The heart pounding so furiously on Aoba's ribs stopped for a few seconds. Aoba froze altogether. A bit of drool spilled out of his open mouth. Then, his cheeks flushed, his elbows gave way, and he was on the floor, screaming at the top of his lungs as his sobs choked him.

_Bang._

"Aoba!" Ren had burst through the door. He was at Aoba's side in an instant, on his knees at Aoba's level. "It's alright. You're going to be okay," he went to rub Aoba's back, but took his hand back, instead asking in a soft tone, "What do you need? I will get it. Whatever you need."

The deep voice echoed in Aoba's ears. His eyes snapped open and landed on Ren. At first, Aoba didn't recognize him. Whoever he was, he was offering help. It'd be stupid to say no, but what if he wanted to hurt Aoba? Similar questions clogged Aoba's mind. Eventually, he grabbed Ren's hand and whispered two words that sent a lance into Ren's chest.

"Kill me."

"I'm not going to kill you, Aoba."

"_Make it stop._"

Ren squinted his brow, "Make what stop?"

"_I'm afraid. Why am I afraid? I love Sly, this shouldn't be happening. I can't stop shaking. Help me."_

"Is it okay to touch you?"

A hesitant nod was his response. Ren then picked up Aoba, and sat on his bed with him in his lap. The cloak was wrapped around Aoba, retrapping the blue butterfly. Its warmth, its texture, and that familiar homely smell numbed Aoba's body. Ever so slowly, the shaking stopped, the headache faded. Soon, Aoba was actually a little hungry. Ren gripped him tightly, though gingerly enough so that he wasn't constricting Aoba. As Aoba's head was on his chest, Ren's head was only a few inches above. He held Aoba as a parent would hold their child: the same way they held them when they were infants. Delicately, horizontally, most of all, comfortingly. Aoba had never felt such tranquility in years. It was as if he were drifting away mentally, because he knew physically, he was safe. The thought that Ren was his captor eluded him. His name was all Aoba could remember at the moment.

"Ren?"

"Feeling better?"

"Yeah."

"Okay. Let's go downstairs. Breakfast is waiting. Does that sound good?"

Aoba took a deep breath to further calm himself, "My stomach is growling."

Ren released Aoba, an action Aoba found himself not fancying. Nevertheless, Ren left the room so Aoba could dress himself.

"Aoba…" Ren put his head in his hands, outside Aoba's bedroom, regret rolling over him in waves.

_It's not me._

_It's them._

_They're going away._

_What will I do when they're gone?_

_What will become of Aoba?_

_Am I strong enough?_

…

_Is Aoba strong enough?_


End file.
